Night of the Masquerade
by Haunted Obsidian
Summary: They moved around carefully, ceremoniously. After all, this was a formal affair. RoyX?


**Title : Night of the Masquerade**

**Genre : Anime/Manga**

**Category : Full Metal Alchemist**

**Disclaimer : Who needs one of these things anyway?**

**Summary : They moved around carefully, ceremoniously. After all, this was a formal affair. RoyX?**

**Warnings: None, though I highly suggest listening to Maroon 5's song "Woman" or Train's "Mississippi" while reading this. Just to set the mood a little. ;)**

**Rating : K+**

Darkness blanketed the night sky, stars painting the heavens in mutinous brilliance, not a cloud interrupting their sacred dance. The wind drifted gently through the streets of Central, the chill of autumn not yet quite ripe. The central city of Amestris was quiet, especially for the nine o'clock hour on a Saturday night, but there was a reason for the absence of its usual manner.

It had been a tradition that on the last Saturday of October, a ball be thrown in the Furher's mansion, only this ball was different than the normal military get-together. Instead of just the usual formal attire that had to be worn, one could only be permitted entrance if their visage was hidden behind a mask.

Now most thought that this was quite foolish, including one Lt. Colonel Roy Mustang, but if you wanted to move anywhere in the military, one must put up with all the Fuhrer's requests, whether or not you believed them to be a good idea or not. And so he did, showing up at the exact time he was supposed to. After all, punctuality was most important with Fuhrer King Bradley. If you were too early, it meant you were obviously 'kissing ass;' however, if you were late, it meant you were careless. And even though animosity was the key, the Fuhrer always knew when you arrived.

"So, the activities haven't started yet I see," Mustang stated as he easily found his best friend of many years through the crowd.

"How'd you know it was me?" Maes Hughes questioned in a whisper, leaning in close to the slightly shorter man.

"Did I ever say it was?" Roy replied, a smirk crossing his lips as he folded his arms across his chest. Upon seeing the obvious look of defeat on the other man's face, the smug look got wider, a smile teasing his mouth. "Only you, Maes, would wear the same mask every year," he confessed, his onyx eyes scanning the room.

"It was the only one I could find!" Hughes tried desperately to redeem himself, though they both knew it was no use. "I _had_ another one. What? I did," he murmured, seeing the corners of Mustang's mouth curl.

Before the other man could give a retort, the music that was playing lightly in the background stopped, the violins and cellos temporarily silenced for the moment. The Fuhrer's voice soon filled the room.

"Welcome, everyone! How nice of you all to come," Bradley's voice boomed throughout the large room, all those in attendance standing at attention. "It's nice to have one night out of the year to enjoy ourselves, isn't it?" His question was answered with many a "yes, sirs," to which he chuckled at. "Very well, then. With that said, I have yet one more thing to announce. As in years past, as well as in years to come, when the midnight hour reigns upon us, the Last Dance shall presume. At that time, two of you very lucky attendees will be paired up to lead the rest of us in that affair. Until then, have fun."

The faint sounds of a piano began to drift through the room, the officers returning to their quiet whispers and tame chats.

"You came alone this year?" Roy inquired, not taking his eyes off the crowd, an odd sense of uneasiness in the pit of his stomach.

"No, she's here. Probably talking to some of the other military wives, speaking of which..." The Major started but was hastily cut off by the other man, finger already in snapping position.

"Ma-es." The name was spoken through carefully grit teeth, the man using all his strength in order not to fry the other man.

"Maybe you'll find yourself a good wife tonight," he whispered quickly, not taking his chances as he backed away from the Lt. Colonel. "Hey, now wait a minute...," his voice trailed off as his hazel eyes caught sight of something Mustang had taken his off of.

Onyx eyes peered through the vast sea of masks, one meeting his eyes in particular. It was the color of the night sky, its owners eyes outlined by tiny transparent stones. To the trained eye, one could see they were indeed diamonds.

Before Hughes could even give the black-haired man a push, Mustang was already on the prowl, making his way over to the woman whose dress matched her mask, minus the diamonds. The black gown graced the floor, the chandeliers' light dimly gleaming off of it. The material fit her like a glove, held up by two thin straps that carefully teased her shoulders. Elbow length gloves covered her arms, obviously satin. Her obsidian locks fell to just past her shoulders, and as the Lt. Colonel moved in closer, he could smell the sweet scent of faint perfume, only making her all the more captivating.

"May I have this dance?" he asked courteously, bowing slightly as he held out his hand, inwardly hoping it would be taken.

"Of course," the woman replied, with slight hesitance. She accepted the gesture, carefully letting her hand slide into his.

"I don't believe I caught your name," the dark-haired man let on, raising an eyebrow as he began to lead.

"I don't believe you were supposed to," she answered back, a mysterious smile playing upon her crimson lips.

"Perhaps, you're right," Mustang replied, silently awed by the woman's beauty. He leaned in closer, yet tried to do so in such a way that it went unnoticeable. "Care to divulge what rank you are?" he tried again, feeling oddly connected to this woman somehow.

"I believe that would still go against the Fuhrer's rules, wouldn't it?" she asked, her voice teasing his eardrums. Her hair brushed against his cheek as he spun her, the woman obviously light on her feet.

"Possibly," he answered, trying desperately to keep his visage expressionless, though the longer he stayed around this woman, the harder it was becoming. "You're very beautiful," the words found their way out of his mouth as they continued to glide across the floor, the man unable to take his eyes off of her.

"Thank you," she replied, a seemingly bashful grin finding its way to her lips. She looked away from him for a moment, her eyes glimmering behind the mask. "You'd probably say that to all the women in here, wouldn't you?" the woman queried, finally earning a bemused expression from the man.

He stared at her for a long moment before answering carefully. "To be honest, there isn't any other woman in here I would have asked to dance with. So the answer to your question would be no; no, I wouldn't."

She nodded in response, her head bowing slightly, causing the obsidian locks to cascade around her mask, temporarily hiding her face for the moment. She rose her head up slowly, once again meeting his onyx orbs. "You're quite different than I originally thought you were," she said, her gaze piercing his.

A trace of surprise crept upon his brow, though he tried to play it off as though it hadn't appeared. "Is that right?" A tiny, almost unseen smile turned up his lips, he unable to fight the losing battle any longer. What was it about this woman? A shiver traveled down his spine, goosebumps littering his skin underneath the fine suit that graced his athletic frame. "What thought did I originally stimulate in your mind?"

She couldn't help but let out a laugh at the last question, the man's charm getting the better of her. "That you would go after any thing that wasn't a conflict of your interest."

"So what you're saying is, you thought that I'd try my luck with the whole lot, if you wouldn't have graciously accepted my invite, correct?" Her perfume drifted through his nostrils once more, and if it weren't for the large amount of self-control the man possessed, he could have kissed her right then and there; but there was obviously more to her than just a pretty face, no matter how much of it was hidden.

"Yes," she answered with a slight nod, the chandeliers' light shining brilliantly through her dark locks, a few strands gracing her cheeks.

Mustang carefully removed one hand from her back, bringing it up to her face to brush the stray hair away. And as he did so, his self-control melted away into the palm of the woman's hand. Without a second's notice, he leaned forward, his smooth lips gently teasing hers. The gesture was returned with careful reluctance, the room silently fading away into the background of both of their minds.

But before the man could delve in any deeper, the woman pulled away, her lips still hanging on the edge of the kiss.

"Is something wrong?" he asked, his brow declining as he saw the worried expression unfold across her features. This wasn't how he was hoping this evening would turn out.

"I-I've got to go," she quickly conceded, backing away from the confused Lt. Colonel, her warmth slipping through his fingertips. She quickly disappeared into the crowd, leaving the man longing for more. Feeling his pride crumble before him, he too made an exit, not even bothering to stay for the ceremonial Last Dance. He headed home, feeling oddly empty and strangely cold.

_That was...awkward_, the thought circled through his head as he went to bed, knowing he'd still be kicking himself in the morning.

&&&&&

Letters and numbers tainted his vision, frustration and boredom getting the better of him. He lifted a hand to his throbbing temple, massaging it with his fingertips. Closing his eyes, images of the previous night drifted past him, embarrassment still taunting him. In all his ten years as a bachelor, he never—never had a woman run away from him like that.

He knew he could ask himself what he had done wrong to ruin the moment over and over again, but the same answer would always turn up; he had no damned clue.

He sighed, staring dazedly down at the mounds of paperwork that encased him and surrounded his desk. He was just about to lay his head down when First Lt. Hawkeye came in, case files and hot cup of coffee in hand.

"Sir?" she asked, rousing him from his disgruntled annoyance with himself. "Sir, here's the files you requested, and the caffeine as well," she stated, setting everything down in front of him. "Your report concerning the Warren case is also due tomorrow, and the paperwork dealing with the Northern Territory also needs your signature by five o'clock which means you have approximately three hours to get those signed," the blond informed him as she gathered the correct pages, setting those down in front of him as well.

"Anything else?" Mustang asked, taking a sip from the desperately needed caffeinated substance.

"I believe that's all for today, sir," she replied, going down the mental check-list of things that needed to be done. "I'll go retrieve the phone records you need for the Saiten case which is due on Wednesday, I believe." And with that, she proceeded to the door.

The man happened to look up just as she was exiting the room, his brow narrowing as something odd caught his eye. Though her hair was normally neatly kept, a strand had fallen out of the clasp she kept it in, though the lock of hair didn't match the rest. It was the color of obsidian.

**Fin**

**Hope you liked it! ;)**


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